


My Little Terran

by SierraLaufeyson13



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, because there is not enough smut about this angry smurf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-05-18 20:11:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5941570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SierraLaufeyson13/pseuds/SierraLaufeyson13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronan allows his Terran warrior to celebrate a small victory over him, however, she chooses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Little Terran

"You fight well, but still your Terran blood makes you innately weak," Ronan speaks as if he as absolute control over what happens in the galaxy, though he does not, he can only have true control over his warship and in the sick way of the Kree he does. She growls beneath her breath and charges forward, extending her hands to allow the green energy to gather, crackling in the stoic air of the Dark Aster. The intensity of her attack takes the Accuser by surprise, but he steps back and the girl slams into the metallic wall. Her shoulder hangs limply as she rams the joint back into place, blood trickles from the side of her temple. For so long it has been training, hours upon hours of training, whether it is with Korath, Nebula, or Ronan himself, she was constantly training, and she hated her body for being weaker than her spirit and ambition.

"And how do you expect me to prove myself in battle if you keep me locked up like an artifact? I have been trained by you. Allow me to show you my loyalty, Ronan," a grim smile takes over her face as she strolls purposefully towards the leader. "I will slay a thousand Xandarians," she stands before him, not daring to look away but keeps her eyes trained on his own violet irises, rimmed with the pitch war paint, his black lips curl into an unsightly smile revealing the stained teeth of the Kree, a truly incongruous type of beauty.

"Your spirit is admirable," he pauses and lashes out, gripping her forearm to the point she feared the bone would splinter beneath his hand. "But it will be your demise." Though she wishes to cringe, she refrains, keeping her face unchanged. Ronan continues to look at the small human girl, almost in awe of the strength she could muster from her pathetic body, but it was something else within her that called to him.

What he did not notice was the ball of energy that had formed in her hand, or when she pressed her hand against his chest. The Kree fanatic was sent to the wall his back was to, a deadly smirk forming on his lips as he moved with deadly precision towards the girl while she stood rooted in place, expecting the worst. Her body braced for impact but he stops naught even an inch away from her before tossing her over his shoulder. She shrieks in shock and carelessly bangs on his back, knowing that the action would do nothing to him.

"Ronan," she warns, though why she would use that tone of voice with him is unknown, his armor presses into her stomach but he does not care, nor does she fully realize that it could be cutting into her skin. The leader strides out of the vast training room and through corridors, his minions and servants eye the two oddly, from the first day she had been on the Dark Aster everyone could sense something between the two, Gamora and Nebula loathed it completely as she easily gained his favor.

The path to her room on board his ship had become second nature and though she did not see ahead the features that passed by were familiar to her, she squirms and he grips her tightly and instantly she stills. Their pace breaks to a halt as he pushes the heavy door open and then it takes mere seconds before he has dropped her to the bed. "You must pay for your insolence Clara," his voice is rough and low, as always but this time, there is something laced within the voice that nearly always caused chills to course over her skin.

Usually, he would deposit her atop crumpled sheets and leave swiftly, locking the door behind him, it was a way to ensure her safety, though why he cared was beyond him, but this time, he didn't leave he, eyes the Terran girl, scrutinizing every feature visible to his eyes. She huffs and crosses her arms across her chest, looking back at the warlord who once held her captive, giving up at whatever she had planned; Clara falls back to her bed. "How will I pay for my insolence, my dear Ronan?" Sarcasm drips off her words, but not because of hatred, or anything of the likes, it was simply in her nature, and he had grown to enjoy the grotesque and unforgiving nature of his little Terran.

The Accuser steps toward her, she remains as is, lying back on the soft sheets. "How do you wish to be punished? I could flog you if you so desire, perhaps bruise your delicate skin with my weapon, though I do not wish for you to choose such actions," as he finishes he leans forward, trapping the majority of her body beneath his torso. She grins wickedly at their position and quickly pivots, throwing off his weight so that she can sit astride him, and though he could easily revert their position; he allows Clara the pleasure of straddling him, a moment of victory.

"Why punish me when it's quite obvious that I won?" She leans down, her nails digging into his armor but it would damage her delicate hands before she would ever scratch the article of clothing. His thin black lips curve into a wry smile; it was grotesque, morose even how beautiful she found him to be. He was nothing but bone and muscle; he killed without a second thought and bathed in the blood of those he deemed lesser than himself, or his cause, and yet she had found a way to appeal to him, a weak Terran who just happened to be a rejected lab experiment.

"And what leads you to believe that you are victorious, my little Terran?" The Accuser remained on his back, Clara straddles him but she was nothing but a feather in comparison to him, she knew this and still taunted and teased the vicious warlord, he still did not know why he kept her around in times like this. "I had the last hit, tossing me over your shoulder doesn't mean you won," her voice was on the verge of haughtiness, and it was that tone with made Ronan dig his hands into her hips, she did nothing but flinch already knowing that bruises would soon form.

"And how shall you celebrate this great achievement?" She sat back but did not dare to move from her curtain position out of fear that she would never manage to get the Kree leader on his back ever again. Clara pursed her lips, thinking about the things she could demand from him, a new dress, a special wine, a day away from the torment of training though the luxuries were enticing she looked at the alien warlord beneath her and smiled. Her moment of hesitance is frustrating as Ronan is impatient, something she had learned when she first arrived on the Dark Aster, but she finds herself trapped beneath his weight, warm hands wrapped around her wrists.

Her eyes glaze over instantly, her breathing stutters, and chest heaves from fear or excitement she can't place exactly as he looks down at her, and even though he wants to be infuriated but he isn't, it's curiosity that shines in his irises. His hand runs up the length of her arm, his head tilting to the side when the skin breaks out in horripilation. "Terrans so predisposed to conceding into their desires, your body betrays little one." His satisfaction is palpable, and though he discriminates against the desires of those of Terra he doesn't move, nor does he resist when Clara slides her hand across his armored chest, brushing the skin of his exposed neck.

Ronan could not deny the aesthetic beauty of the little Terran he held within his ship, but her heart was as black as the oncoming night, filled with malice, but it was soft skin, pale green eyes and sandy colored hair that enraptured him in the moment. He could see the bruises forming on her wrists, those that were fading on her arms. He claimed she bruised easily because she was Terran, and his grip was not to blame. She thought otherwise. "Ronan," her voice was low, drenched with want; he thought it pathetic for his little warrior to feel such desire, but pulled the straps and buckles of her training garb away.

Clara whimpers when his fingers brush against her clavicles, up the column of her neck and across dry and rough lips, she sighs as his fingers exhibit a gentleness that she could never have thought existed in the fierce leader, people cowered before him, and yet he admired her. Ronan's hand grips her jaw, forcing her gaze to remain on him, his mouth hovering above hers, as if in a teasing manner, his breath fanning over her lips and cheek, everything about him was frightening, imposing, but right now she could not see past her own desire.

"My little Terran, I can be rather demanding and would hate to break your fragile body, I do not think you understand the gravity of this situation and of that which you ask of me," his voice is serious, the threatening nature resurfacing, and it shows in his eyes, the way they narrow and how his grip on her jaw and neck tightens just enough to cause discomfort. Her eyes meet his in a challenge, and her hand grips the forearm of the hand still on her jaw, but she does not struggle against him, the other touches the skin of face, faintly tracing over one of the profound veins beneath the surface that are a different shade than the rest of his skin. "I know what I have gotten myself into, Ronan and I am asking for you, all of you and whatever you will give." She is quick to clarify, her own voice hold authority, a trait she had picked up from her stay with the warlord without a doubt, and as soon as his hand moves from her jaw it is entangled with her hair, tugging back her fragile neck in whichever way he pleases, his free hand wraps around her throat but does not squeeze as he slips it around to the back of her neck.

He is quick to close the small space between their lips, pressing his against hers, claiming her with just his mouth, and she yielded to him completely, reciprocating fully, her body molding seamlessly against him. Clara slips her hands beneath his headdress, both hands resting on the back of his neck, on bare skin, unknowingly pulling him closer. His hands squeeze her breasts, which at some point in their kiss had become bare; she can feel the slight smile on his lips as he tests the weight of each one, fitting perfectly in his palm, and the harshness of the kiss stole her breath away completely.

Deftly she fumbles with the intricacies of his armor, finding small notches where she believed there to be buckles but her search was in vain. She cursed herself for turning away the time she was summoned as the monks dressed him, the only thing she caught sight of was his heavily muscled back before her cheeks turned the color of her blood, now she wished she had observed how they had dressed him. Clara makes a noise of frustration, laden with lust and Ronan laughs, sensing the cause of her distress, but before he stands to remove his armor she pulls off the heavy headdress and sets it aside reverently, following him until they both stand.

The Accuser hastily removed the remainders of her clothing, ripping the uniform straight from her body in a way that makes her gasp as shreds flutter to the floor, at first, she wants to protest but Ronan silences her. He would replace the damaged one with something more befitting for his partner, something more menacing to suit her. His eyes appreciatively roam the sight of her body, soft, supple, feminine, and breakable, oh how very breakable she was.

As the first piece of his armor falls away Clara quickly steps forward, now able to remove the remaining pieces, carelessly she lets the pieces fall to the floor. For a moment the sight of his bare torso renders her speechless, the planes of his chest are defined, tentatively she reaches out, tracing his over his collarbones, her caresses feather light in nature. Ronan tips her head back and leans down, claiming her lips again, he is not gentle, nor is humble about the effect he has on her, he is demanding and dominant. Frantically Clara works the zippers and ties of his pants, pushing them off completely, her hands trace the muscles of his abdomen, and run over the cuts in his hips.

His grip that forms on her waist is one of iron, she winces but it is the least of her concerns as he picks her up, wrapping her agile legs about his waist before falling forward to the bed, his weight braced on his hands, splayed just above her shoulders. The Accuser studies his Terran, her pupils superimposed with lust, the sight was barbaric, carnal, and he enjoyed every second of it. Clara smoothed her fingertips across his brow, tracing around the war paint until her fingers pressed against his skull. She sighs at how smooth it is, just like the rest of his body.

For a long moment, they remain as is, intently looking over the other's face, the expressions, but she pushes herself up, breasts pressed tightly to his chest and kisses him without abandon, his arm wraps around the curve of her back, further arching her body into his. "Ronan," she breathes, hands slipping over his broad shoulders, down his tapering back, the muscles there contract under her palms. She has words forming on the tip of her tongue but they are lost as his hand slips between her legs, the smile on his lips can be felt pressed into her neck as he runs his fingers down her slick folds.

"I can smell your arousal from her, my little Terran." A strangled noise caught somewhere between a moan and a yelp escapes her lips when he slides two fingers within her core, his thumb pressed against her clit, rubbing agonizingly slow circles. Clara rolls her hips; the action causes Ronan to look at her to which she quickly takes his face within her hands, placing a timorous to his lips as his fingers begin to work her faster. When her lips part in a silent throe of pleasure the Accuser swipes his tongue daringly along her lower lip, pleased when her head falls back.

Ronan lies back, and pulls her weight to land on his chest, but he is quick to situate the Terran how he desires her, she doesn't resist. Instead, she eases his work and takes the hint, moving up his body until one of her knees rests on either side of his head. He slips his hands up along the outside of her thighs and to her hips, pulling her down to him. Lowered onto his mouth her hips buck as his tongue pushes into her; savoring the sweet taste of his Terran pet. Her head falls back at first, and he clutches her rocking hips, controlling the motions of her movement as he was unwilling to give her any kind of control.

He sucks at her clit, pursing his lips around the sensitive nerves and swirls his tongue around the flesh before dropping a single hand to push his fingers deep within her again. It was then she dared to look down, the sight of his eyes glowing with desire, for a moment she thought the war paint on his face would transfer to her skin but it remains perfected, it was this moment she desperately wished he had hair to tangle her hands in but with nothing to truly grab hold of Clara grasps her own breasts squeezing them to her chest.

The intensity was nearly enough to overwhelm the girl, her hips trying to lift away from his plundering tongue but he withdraws his fingers and locks his forearms around her thighs, spreading her wide with his fingers. Her mouth falls open as his tongue rolls and laps, curling deep inside her and no matter how she moves he follows, keeping his mouth against her core as he devoured her, his eyes intently watching her from between her legs. When she comes her body shakes as she tries to escape his grasp, a move that his form bruise on her skin no doubt, but he refuse and seeks to draw out every ounce of pleasure and cry she has within. He gives her clit a slow final suck, and licks his lips, but returns his hands to replace his tongue once again.

Somewhere within her quivering state of mind, she stills his hand. "Enough teasing, I said I wanted _you_ , not your fingers or tongue, however talented they may be." Her hands trail down his torso as she leans back, well-defined abs flex as her fingers dance over the skin until she stops at the last remaining piece of clothing between the two, the wrap that conceals his fully engorged cock. She takes pride at his reaction when she grasps the length still concealed by a thin piece of black fabric, it makes her feel as if she has the power that could bring the one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy to his knees.

Clara pulls the fabric away and in a flash he has her on her back once more; the weight of his arousal rests against her inner thigh, she can easily feel that he is well endowed, but she never had any doubts concerning his size. "I cannot promise to be gentle with you, my dear Clara." She smiles coyly at the Kree leader, pushing her hips against his. "I haven't asked you to be gentle, now fuck me, Ronan." Her words are the flame that ignites the fuse, and before she can speak again he thrusts himself within her, fully sheathing himself in her hot core.

Her nails dig into his biceps, almost to the point where she believes there is blood coming from the man that was once her captor. With each thrust her breasts press tighter to the musculature of his chest, her hands still mark his skin and as a response, he sinks his teeth into her neck, just above the thrumming pulse. Her body involuntarily reacts, arching into him, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer with each powerful thrust. She was sure there would be bruises on the insides of her thighs, and where ever his fingertips had dug into her skin, but she couldn't care, she was only focused on the way his cock felt sliding in and out of her, the way their skin sounded slapping against each other's in the vast room creating a cacophony of noises that were far from civil.

Clara made no notion to contain the obscene noises and words that flew from her mouth, strings of profanities fell from her swollen lips in a manner that the Accuser found amusing, but it did not stop him from rutting into her repeatedly, _fucking_ her as she had called it, he never falters or loses the pace set. He only paused to lift her from the sheets, her legs remained wrapped tightly his waist, and now her hands grasp onto his shoulders while his dig into her backside.

Ronan buries his head into her breasts, nipping and suckling at her tender flesh, determined to leave marks on the skin, lifting her body only to pull her back down as he thrust into her. He knows he is being rough with her fragile body, but he cannot, nor does he want to control the need for her now, she gasps as her muscles begin to tighten, her heels pressing firmly into his back, and had it been a mortal man in his place his shoulders and chest would have been covered in bloody scratches, but not the Kree leader, her clawing did nothing but amuse him.

Her body bows beautifully as she clenches around his cock, nothing short of a scream is ripped from her throat, with ragged breathing she partially falls limp but only supporting her weight with one arms Ronan, wraps his free hand in her hair, tugging back until her eyes lock onto his, he's still moving, rolling his hips into hers, slower than before as the grip of her cunt around him creates resistance and only makes him surge forward, pushing himself deeper.

She fears he may crush her as his arms wrap around her tightly, within her his cock swells and she can feel the warm liquid filling her, his seed, and he falls forward, releasing her but not removing his weight from her tired body. She finds it comforting, running her fingertips from the back of his skull, down his neck, and he connects the forming bruises tracing over her skin in a manner that is all too gentle for the alien warlord. "Perhaps I should let you win more often if that is how you choose to celebrate."

Clara laughs, and though she does not see the smile that forms on his lips, it is there. "I have no objections if this is how you wish to celebrate your victories as well." Ronan gives her breast a playful squeeze before stilling once more, his head pillowed on her cleavage and her arms resting on his back. She was exhausted, sated, and most definitely pleasantly sore, but as she slipped into sleep Ronan winces at the feeling within his chest, and even if he wants to push the girl far away he cannot, he only pulls her closer to him.


	2. Stand Accused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How deep does Ronan's attachment run for his Little Terran when questioned by Thanos?

He grips her jaw tightly, bringing his face close to hers. Despite the force he uses she smiles and lifts up, twining her arms around his neck, creating the notion that she would kiss him, but with the correct amount of leverage, the Terran girl pulls herself up. Knocking the Kree leader to his back. Clara leans over Ronan, her eyes gleaming in the low light of the Dark Aster. "I can't believe you fell for that _again_. Are my lips truly so irresistible?" He swings his leg, knocking her balance off and with a dull thud she lands atop his chest and within a second he has her pinned beneath his weight.

His smile is unsettling but Clara has found it within herself to adore it. "Rest assured Little Terran, I will not fall for your trickery again." She breathes steadily though her heart is pounding, loudly at the new-found position. His eyes pierce her to the very soul and the grip on her wrists slackens, allowing her to trace over his brow. Today he goes without armor, without the war paint, it is how she prefers him. The doors to the training room bursts open, Nebula looks furious as she observes her leader and the Terran girl on the floor.

"Thanos will have words with you, Ronan." Clara frowns as he removes his weight from her body but he extends his hand pulling the girl up to her feet. The leader agrees to the meeting and sends Nebula away, a permanent grimace seems to be on her modified face. Ronan looks to his side at Clara before leaving the room, leaving her alone. She wipes the sweat from her brow and moves to collect her armor's outer jacket before wandering the halls of the Dark Aster.

The flagship is shrouded in darkness and is a fortress within itself, the only light comes in the form of a hazy blue color. At first, she hated the darkness, the Sakaarans, she hated how she came to be in the hands of an alien warlord. Then he began to train her, at first, she was left to the hands of Gamora and Nebula but soon Ronan himself aided her and that was when everything was set spinning into motion. She revealed her power, gifted to her by a diviner, he helped her channel it and use it, and she grew stronger, more durable and suited to living with him.

Clara bites her bottom lips as she passes by the largest room on the ship, where ceremonies were held, meetings were attended, where his throne sat for here on this ship he was the king and conqueror. The doors are sealed but she can hear the disembodied voice though she cannot make out the words. Ronan's reply is much clearer though and she instantly knows that she is the topic of this conversation. "The Terran girl is not of your concern." She wants to scream at the revelation, but truly it cannot be called such as Nebula's insults still ring in her ears. _You've made him soft. You're nothing but pitiful Terran, once he's had his fill you'll be gone._

Clara runs to the one place solitude is guaranteed. The doors of her room slam behind her and never has she hated this ship more. Clara's hands burn with the energy crackling at her fingertips, begging to be released, instead of inflicting damage upon the room she tears her top away and strips herself of other clothing before entering the wet room. The pungent liquid that cascades over her body is not water but within the months, she had grown used to it. It stings the open wounds she has and burns at the bruises and despite the pain she remains under the stream of liquid, her tears indistinguishable.

The human girl leans over the basin, looking into the reflective surface hanging above to see the cut on her cheek is gone, the scratches on her back and hips slowly seal themselves. She does not even startle when her doors are thrown open for she knows it is Ronan and by the heaviness of his footfalls he is beyond angry. She wants to turn and face him but he is already behind her, his body pressing against her, hand loosely wrapped around her neck. Their reflection is shown in the hazy surface, his full armor had been placed upon his body and now the black war paint graced his face, making his presence menacing.

His breath is unbearably hot against her neck and the hand that lies there reminds her just how fragile she is. "There will be no tenderness. I will show no mercy, girl." Her breath hitches as his hand tightens, but suddenly it is gone and she is thrown onto the bed, his hands pinning her with so much force had the surface not been soft the bones would have splintered. She will not back away, nor will she allow him to see her discomfort at the moment.

"I never asked you to be tender with me." It is the truth, she welcomed his strength, never asking once that he be tender. His lips curl into a grotesque sneer but despite how much he wants her gone, out of his way, his eyes dispel the strange form of affection he holds for her. Her words infuriate him and only prove what Thanos had said if he had a weakness it would be _her_ , this delicate little Terran.

"And so you shall receive none from me ever again." He bares his blackened teeth, his grip on her wrists has not budged and before she can comprehend the situation further his grim lips are against hers, bruising and devouring. Only one of her hands is freed and on instinct she attempts to raise it to the nape of his neck but it is pushed back down, the glare in his purple irises is murderous among other things. "You will not touch me, Terran, unless I bid you to. You will not make a sound unless I instruct you to. You will take no pleasure in this until I have had my fill. Is that understood?" Clara's breath hitches and she nods, unable to look away from his face.

"Very good. Now, shall we begin?" His hands do not caress, this time, they grope, pinching her skin where he pleases and watching in the seconds after as a dull shade of purple began to blossom on her pale skin. He had missed bruising her, perhaps he _had_ been too gentle with her as of late. She squirms at each of his touches, biting her bottom lips so hard that the coppery tinge of blood fills her mouth. Ronan is amused as he looks up to see her silent struggle but is still intent on marking her, claiming her. When he takes one of her nipples into his mouth her back arches away from the bed and into him, she tries to fight the unadulterated lust that is coursing through her veins but she fights a losing battle.

His hold on her hips is like a vise and for a moment his torturous touches cease and she is granted a moment of reprieve. Ronan inhales her scent with a deep chuckle that permeates her entire body, he can smell her arousal and if only for further torture he presses his hardened cock against her core. One of his hands sips between her thighs, gathering the basest of her provocation on his fingers. Clara suppresses the whimper within her throat as he brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a low groan before standing from the bed. "On your hands and knees, girl."

For once she does not argue with such a command nor does she hesitate to follow it for she knows the wrath he can enact in such a mood. He allows her to look upon him as he strips off the armor that had been placed upon him. He is bared from the waist up, muscles rippling with every movement in the dull lighting. Inadvertently she licks her lips as he unties the fly on his pants, shoving them down his powerful legs and to the floor. His strides back to the bed are purposeful and the look he gives her sends shivers coursing done her spine.

He keeps his word and is not gentle when his hand grips her hair, tugging her head back until she can barely support part of her weight on her arms. Her back arches in a way that is almost painful but Clara thinks little of that when she feels the blunt head of his cock pressing against her, prodding around her sopping entrance and then he is inside her, wholly. Ronan does not allow her to hear the small grunt he makes nor does he allow her to see the way his head fell back at the feeling of her heat encompassing him over and over. He is relentless in his quest for domination over her petite frame but despite his command, her mind is clouded with desire and body coursing with pleasure.

Her cries are muffled and her hands fist in the sheet beneath them. His hands are at her hips, contorting her body however he chooses, he pulls her hips back to meet each of his thrusts and watches every time his little Terran squirms, every time she tries to coax herself to disobey. Ronan musters the audacity to laugh when her knuckles go white and her head hangs forward limply, but power cracks at her fingertips and quicker than the leader can notice she has changed the tides.

Clara looks down at Ronan and smirks, grinding her hips into his at her own pace. His eyes are cruel and fuming with unspoken rage but then she moans, exposing her fragile neck and it fades. He reaches up to her neck and wraps his hand around the pale column of flesh, not tight enough to cause any harm but just so she knows the threat is there and it is real. His other hand lingers at her breasts, palming each of them, amazed by how voluptuous they appeared yet within his hand they disappear. She holds his hand to her chest, her free hand touching the wrist that is below her chin. "Ronan."

It is the simple utterance of his name that leads him to thwart his hips, bucking Clara from atop him and onto her back. "Foolish girl." He hisses whilst sliding his cock back into her core. Her chest heaves and her hands claw at his back but he is nothing but bone and muscle and her nails cannot even scratch his thick skin. Ronan is driving himself into her again and again, enraptured, and lost to the moment he presses his lips against hers, but it becomes a clash of teeth and tongue.

His pelvis grinds against her clit and a ferocious grunt is ripped from the Kree's throat when her walls wrap around him, clenching tightly and greedily. Clara arches into him, crying out, his name falling from her lips in estranged moans and half screams. The thrusts slow and Ronan looks down, her eyes are closed, mouth agape, and her brows are furrowed. She trembles from her release and it is then he finds his own.

Ronan falls still, his weight still hovering above Clara. For a brief moment, he looks away but returns his burning gaze back to the Terran beneath him. "I am sending you back, it is time you returned to Terra. To your home." Clara scoffs and attempts to push him away but he does not budge. He will not say why, he will not admit he wants to send her away to keep her safe and he hates himself for it, and Clara does not realize his motive for such actions. It takes what feels like minutes before she can the words she wishes to speak.

Regardless of his views on tenderness and affection, she pushes herself up and kisses the corner of his lips, pulling back for a second. Her lips ghost over his own and he remains perfectly still as she speaks the words he never wanted to hear her say. "You foolish man, this is my home."


	3. Digression

Korath entered the main chamber of the Dark Aster and found Ronan meditating in the middle of open space before the chair in which he claimed his sovereignty. "There is something you should see." The chrysalis was amber and diamond, the Terrigen Mist had long dissipated and now within it lay a woman, a Terran woman. Ronan laid his hand over the crystal's surface, realizing now what truly lay inside, "an inhuman."

"What should we do, Master?" Korath questioned, unsure what use a Terran would be. The Accuser offered no answer, he only raised his hand and brought it down upon the crystalline sarcophagus. It cracked under his strength and within another strike, it shattered. The woman opened her eyes and shot up, breathing heavily, and panicked.

She glanced around the dim and dark surroundings and finally settled on the man that stood at her side. "Who are you?" she asked, but then her gaze was drawn upwards and at the sight of blue skin moved backward, afraid. "What are you?" Ronan stood steadfast and unblinking, his eyes burning into the Dark Aster's newest resident. The swell of emotions that bubbled within made her uncomfortable and it concentrated within the palms of her hands as glowing energy. "What happened to me?" The question had clearly been directed to herself but Ronan crouched down before her, seeing the possibilities of such a beautiful mutation.

"I can teach you," he said with no hesitation on the matter, "train you." That had been the original plan, but then pesky little feelings got in the way. Clara woke from the resurfaced memory, propped her chin up on Ronan's chest and slowly opened her eyes to adjust to the light that flooded through the seeing panes from the closest star. His arm tightened around her waist on impulse and instinct and then he began stroking her bare back, running his fingertips up and down her spine. "What?" He grumbled, not keen on the way his Terran was looking at him.

"I had a dream about you," her voice was hardly above a whisper, the Kree Accuser raised one of his brows and she continued, "About when we met." A faint smile stretched across her lips. Ronan did not know what to say, so he kissed her instead. Cradling the nape of her neck with one massive hand and with the other pressing her to him, spreading fingers across her lower back, against the brittle delicacy of her shoulder blades, at the curve of her spine where the force of his hand pulled her up onto him and spilled her breasts across his chest. She made a soft sound of startlement and pleasure. He stayed still underneath her and just watched her face. Her eyes were closed and she was biting her lip, anticipating it, needing it just as much as he did, maybe even more.

"What have you done to me, woman?" He reached to trace his fingers along her arms and shoulders, across the gentle slope of her collarbones, the bend of her neck. He lifted her chin to have her look at him, cupping her face in his hands, pushing back the drape of her streaming hair. Then he switched their positions, so she was beneath him and he was between her legs.

In the ways of his people, intimacy was limited to the peak of reproducing for the sole purpose of the Kree armies. Never was there an emotion such as love, admiration or what was pulsing his every vein down to his cock, lust. He turned, reaching underneath her as he pulled her hips up from the bed. Ronan felt his eyes move to the back of his head as he inhaled Clara's scent. He blindly darted his tongue forward and tasted her, enjoying the simple delicacy of her as he moaned, nibbling on her lips, feeling her delicate skin to his.

She moaned as he pinned her open legs wide over his shoulders to feast upon her. Never had he tasted anything as sweet and decadent as her as he moaned into her cunt. Clara's hand shot for his head. She propped herself up, rocking her hips to his tongue and feeling him growl into her skin as he moved back up to her clit. He refused to slow for her benefit as he pushed his two fingers into her to feel her walls tighten around him.

He wrapped his arms around Clara, staying between her legs as he lifted from the bed and pushed her roughly to the head board while Clara clung to him and the wood behind her. Ronan gave her clit one final sharp suck as he pulled himself away, letting his long, blue fingers continue to fuck her.

"Fuck," she cursed, and at the obscenity, Ronan pressed his lips to Clara's. His whole body pressed against hers, trapping her as he worked his fingers faster. She could taste only the faintest hints of herself on his lips.

At first, it was too much for her, feeling him pressed against her as he made her scream but over time, she got used to Ronan constantly touching her whether he was fucking her or refusing to let her go anywhere without him. Sometimes, she would wake and find his arms wrapped almost too tightly around her body, refusing to let her go, even when he slept. She learned to deal with it.

Ronan waited until the perfect moment as he pulled his fingers away and licked at her wetness. His eyes rolled back from the taste, neglecting Clara for the moment as he focused and thrust into her. She gasped for breath, digging her nails into his neck as he smiled to her submission, though his smile faded when she broke his through his thick skin and drew blood for the first time.

She gasped, spreading her legs wider for him, giving him room to maneuver how he liked. One hand grasped at the soft sheets beneath her, the other arm was around Ronan, the flat of her palm pressed between his shoulder blades. "Ohh... Ronan..." she crooned his name, turning her face so that it was tucked into the crook of his neck, lips seeking out his pulse point to kiss it gently. Without conscious effort on her part, her hips rocked up against his.

Time was suspended as Ronan shuddered for a moment from her warmth. Clara gasped, fingers seeking purchase on his shoulders and back. Her breath came in startled gasps as she tried to make sense of it; a strange, tremulous tingling beginning in her heart that moved throughout her body like a crashing wave, but there was no stopping it and from her, it flowed over Ronan.

The Kree warlord hung his head and kept his weight off of Clara with shaking forearms. She pushed herself up, found his lips with her own, and pulled him down to rest atop her. Over the course of their time together, she had grown accustomed to his weight, and at times found comfort in it. He rested his head upon her breast, listening to the beat of her heart as it soon found a normal pace again. Clara tried to hold him, but it was folly, he was much larger than her. Instead, the Accuser rolled over, pulling her with him and tucked her petite frame into his chest. Ronan cursed her and himself but knew there was no going back. He would destroy galaxies for her and she knew that.

-

"Ronan," she looked up from the cup of dark wine, "What does Thanos want with me?" His dark eyes widened, brows furrowed, and mood soured almost instantly. Clara glanced down at her hands and frowned, realizing that she had overstepped the bounds of their relationship, if it could be called such. "I'm sorry," she stuttered, suddenly afraid, "I overheard in the hall with Korath."

He stood, abruptly, and began to pace with his hands clenched into tight fists. He hated the weakness that he had for her, it was infuriating the way she made him feel. Thanos had been right, but he would not risk losing her, not now, not ever. Clara bit down on her bottom lip hard and ignored the tinge of blood that tickled her tongue. Ronan was a man who commanded respect and fear, only a fool would not fear the Accuser.

Clara was that fool. At first, she had feared him, but now, there was no reason to. She stood and stepped into his path. Ronan's hands were rough, and warm against her cheek and neck, his touch delicate. Or perhaps she had just grown accustomed to his roughness. "I will not let him have you," his tone was a vow, "as long as I breathe Thanos will never have you."

"Is this why you wanted to send me back to Terra?" Clara asked, her hands resting atop his. The silence answered her question.

She pushed herself up to the tips of her toes and leaned forward. Her kiss was cautious and reticent, too timid for an accomplished warrior or someone of her power. But this tenderness was foreign until now she had dared not show this side to him. Ronan pushed back, but for the first time, he was not entirely ungentle. He grasped onto her waist and pulled her up to him. "I'll go back to Terra if you truly want that," Clara breathed and his burning cyan eyes softened.

"I'll come for you," Ronan spoke against her lips in a hushed voice and she believed him, there was no reason for her not to.


End file.
